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“There haven’t been any reports made to the hospital yet,” Vetle said, “and as far as we can tell, no calls made to the police about odd overdoses either. For now, we’ve fed a couple of pills to Southwick’s sons, but aside from it seeming less effective, there’s been nothing.”
“He altered the formula and all it did was lessen the potency,” Odin caught on. That wasn’t good by any means, since a product that didn’t do what it claimed to be capable of was a product no one wanted. But at least there weren’t lawsuits or deaths to worry about. “Have we gotten a hold of the faulty pills?”
“We’ve recalled as many as we can find. The issue lies with the formula itself. Southwick refuses to tell us what he did, and he shot the three other chemists who were working for him who knew it.”
To help protect the business, the formula had been kept highly classified. Southwick, who’d helped to create it, knew it by heart and had taught it to three others who helped to oversee the creation process. With them all gone, he was the only one on-site who knew how to correctly make Magic Mirror.
“Is this why you stopped by the other day?” Odin asked Jita, only to have the other man give a curt shake of his head.
“Damn it, what else?”
“Someone’s been beating up workers,” Jita announced. “It’s a separate situation from this one. I’ve dealt with all the hospital stays and have ensured no one will talk about it to the police if asked, but I thought you should know since it’s more than one case.”
That was a different issue for a different day. For now, he’d simply have to trust Jita to handle it.
Odin sighed and rose to his feet, heading back toward the iron staircase. Silently, he made his way up and over to the fourth bookshelf on the left, dancing his fingers across the spines of the books before stopping at the one he was looking for. No one else spoke as he pulled it free and returned, flipping pages open to the center to pull a loose leaflet free.
He’d figured out the formula himself ages ago and had been sitting on it all this time, unwilling to get rid of Southwick when the partnership had been so fruitful for them both. Now, however…
He held it out to Vetle between two fingers, pulling it back just before the man was able to take it. “Just you. Until we find a new overseer, no one else looks at this but you. Have it memorized before you leave the room and return it to its rightful place.”
“Of course, sir.” Vetle bowed his head. “How do you want to handle Southwick?”
“Personally.” Odin glanced over at Wren and smirked. “Someone recently told me I should get out more.”
* * *
He was busy wiping the blood off his hands when Hunter stirred awake. Admittedly, he should have gone to the shower instead of heading straight here when he returned from dealing with Southwick, but his feet had a mind of their own, and well, here he was.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, not bothering to glance up from his current task, continuing to scrub the wet towel over the dried stains on his knuckles even when he felt Hunter’s eyes on him.
“Whose blood is that?” Hunter sounded weak still, but at least he could talk now.
“Billy Southwick’s.” He paused and cocked his head. “Actually, it might be Tod Southwick’s. Can’t be certain. You may have met their father, back when he was working for mine. Booker Southwick?”
Having gotten most of it off, Odin finally stopped and tossed the towel into the trash bin. When he looked over, Hunter was staring back at him.
He was lying on the bed, the silky red comforter pulled halfway up his chest so that some of his bandages peeked out. His parlor still wasn’t where it should be, more ghostly white than the honey tone Odin recalled.
He’d spoken with the doctors this morning and they’d all confirmed Hunter was on the mend and doing well in his recovery. So why was Odin still so uneasy?
“Did you kill them?” Hunter asked, voice quiet, but not at all small. It was impossible to miss the hint of judgment, the clear distaste.
Something inside of Odin reacted to that, and he forced himself to grin to cover it up. “They were hardly innocent,” he said. “They stole from me. No one steals from me and gets away with it unscathed.”
Hunter dropped his gaze like Odin had hoped he would, and for a second, he was able to drop his guard again and breathe. Then he moved over to the bed, easing down onto the edge, his smile returning when that caused the other man to visibly tense.
“Why so afraid?” He draped an arm around Hunter’s hip, leaning over him some. “What do you think is about to happen?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Between you and those guys from the warehouse?” Odin hadn’t bothered getting their names, but he had left Loni with one of them long enough to get a read on the situation. He’d wanted to know who else was after Hunter. “You don’t have to worry about them. If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.”
Hunter closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again there was almost a slight pleading in his whiskey-colored eyes.
It tugged at something in Odin, tugged at the eighteen-year-old boy he’d once been and the trust he’d once felt when he’d considered this man his friend of sorts. He’d been wrong. About that and so many other things.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
